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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24417256">Find Heaven in You</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/GwiYeoWeo/pseuds/GwiYeoWeo'>GwiYeoWeo</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Devil May Cry</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Brotherly Bonding, Dadgil, Dante is wonderfully Dante, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Gen, Growing Up Together, I think that's the term, Light Angst, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, V is not-kinda-sorta Vergil, Vergil is trying, baby!kid!Nero, baby!kid!V, dad!Vergil, implied/referenced PTSD, less hurt/more comfort, uncle!Dante</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 06:15:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,741</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24417256</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/GwiYeoWeo/pseuds/GwiYeoWeo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>“Holy shiiiiit.”</p>
  <p>Vergil stiffened, realizing what he had said. ‘My own child,’ he repeated, his own admittance echoing inside his skull.</p>
  <p>And even if he hadn’t realized it himself, Dante’s ugly mug would have told him: lips puckered into a stupid-looking ‘o’ as if he was about to tattle to an elementary schoolteacher, eyebrows lifted to the high heavens in shock, and an index finger pointing accusingly at Vergil. “I can’t believe it,” he said, tone pitching higher into what Vergil recognized as the prelude to one of his roaring laughs, “I mean, I totally knew you’d admit it one day, but not this soon.” Then, looking at Nero, “Y’hear that, brat? Vergil’s officially a dad.”<br/></p>
</blockquote>Plagued by his nightmares, Vergil takes a drastic measure to rid himself of them -- except a lapse in focus begets him an unexpected result: two children. Infants.<p>Vergil discovers he has a lot to learn, from the intricacies of fatherhood to balancing his life along the line of demon and human, all while juggling Dante and his antics and the various jobs at Devil May Cry. But perhaps, most importantly, to reconcile with a life he thought had been long lost to him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dante &amp; V (Devil May Cry), Dante &amp; Vergil (Devil May Cry), Nero &amp; Vergil (Devil May Cry), V &amp; Vergil (Devil May Cry)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>167</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. there's a poetry to your solitude</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i didn't know dadgil week was here<br/>admittedly, i would have liked to work on this later but since the opportunity presented itself  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯</p><p>no proofreading we die like, uhhhhh urizen</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>To protect. </p><p>That's all he ever wanted. </p><p>This maddening search for power, this insatiable drive behind his hand that drove Yamato through blood and rotting flesh. And eventually, through his own brother’s heart. Repeatedly.</p><p>He wanted power to protect and love, to <em> protect </em> the ones he <em> loved </em> . (And perhaps, in return, be protected and loved.) Sick and tired of having his hearts be torn and snatched from him, having his family stolen and fractured bit by bit, by forces that left him powerless and head bowed, he only wanted to be happy. To keep together what little he had left, to keep the <em> only </em> thing he had left.</p><p>If he only had enough power, he could show Dante the error of his ways, that humanity merely scraped by on mercy and dumb luck, that eventually it would burn itself to the ground or crumble underneath its own weak foundations. He would show Dante, through force and tough love — tough, bloody love — and Dante would surely understand one day, through that thick skull of his and that disgustingly sentimental heart which was so utterly enamored with humanity. That in the end, ultimately, he was doing this for them, for the two of them, the broken pieces of what was left of their family. </p><p>And in the end, ultimately, he had pushed that one thing he wanted to protect. Drew his sword against his brother’s hand because somewhere along the way, he had lost sight of his path, thorned and broken and twisted at some blind point in his thirst, when pride reared its ugly head and crushed love in between its monstrous teeth. </p><p>And in the end, ultimately, it was love that saved him.</p><p>For all the blood and tears and gut-wrenching screams between them, Dante still loved him. Enough to crawl through the Underworld and raise hell, to choke down the nightmares and guts that littered his path, to wrestle Vergil out of death’s claws and Mundus’ chains. To free him of Nelo Angelo.</p><p>But something stung at him still, pierced deeper than the sharp edges of that black armor ever will. His pride burned, at the idea that he <em> needed </em> his little brother’s <em> help </em> after all. Despite everything, his wounds still itched, and if there had to be only one thing the twins shared, it was being stubborn to the point of death. </p><p>So, understandably, it took a well-timed, head-rattling punch to finally knock some sense into Vergil, as if sloshing his brain around managed to rewire something in there — or dislodge that stick up his ass, as Dante would have lovingly put it. </p><p>It happened during one of their brotherly spats, so common as they were that not even a week would go by without someone getting stabbed. A petty squabble in light of the near apocalypses their previous battles — nay, <em> wars </em> — have wrought, just another tally on whatever violent game that only the two of them understand. Violence was, and is, the one language they can speak clearly to each other in, nothing as raw and transparent as the fists that fly and the sparks that alight them, where convoluted words have no place and could never speak the volumes that their blows scream out. </p><p>Neither of them remember how it had started, the reason never being important anyhow, only that Dante disagreed with something and wanted to push, and Vergil an iron wall that refused to budge. </p><p>Vergil didn’t know <em> how </em> the pieces finally forced themselves together, or maybe something in him just broke apart after all the constant fights, each one chipping away at him slowly but surely. </p><p>They really were alone. Just the two of them.</p><p>Dante may have forged ties during Vergil’s absence, made allies in the likes of Lady and Trish and Morrison, but they were <em> threads </em> in comparison to the chains that wrapped themselves around the Sparda twins, unbreakable to even Yamato herself. </p><p>But they were brothers, and Dante did not drag Vergil's sorry ass out of hell just to lose him again. They were brothers, and though Dante had made it clear not all Vergil's sins were forgiven or ever would be, their place was at each others' sides. </p><p>They were brothers, and that was why Vergil had gone on his downward spiral for power in the first place. </p><p>To protect. </p><p>"Damn, and I thought I was the dumbass twin." Dante laughed, wet with blood and exhaustion. He turned his head to the side, expecting a particularly nasty cough to rattle his broken ribs, from where he remained sprawled out on the cold stone floor of a long-abandoned town. They had long learned to take their squabbles to the ruins, not in their hometown where their combined powers could level the entire city. "Can't believe it took that many ass-kickings —"</p><p>Vergil watched on with a wry smile as Dante heaved up a sizeable glob of blood onto the cracked stone below him, sputtering and choking for air in lieu of his finished sentence. He waited, sitting only a few feet away on the ground, back against an upturned broken phone booth, as he rested one arm on top of a bent knee. As collected as he'd like to think he looked, Vergil was only marginally better off than Dante; but he at least had both working lungs. </p><p>Still, his pride was what made him, and he wouldn't let go of it so easily. Even if he wanted to, <em> did </em> want to. "This changes nothing."</p><p>He realized it was a lie as soon as the words rolled off his tongue, his gut clenching around the unsettling flurry. Superficially, nothing really would change. Their fights would continue so long as their father's blood ran through their veins, their childhood rivalry having long twisted into something else, influenced by their demonic instincts but softened by brotherly bonds. Vergil would still appraise Dante as the annoying little brat; for Dante, Vergil the giant bitch. </p><p>"Wouldn't have it any other way, asshat."</p><p>Vergil looked up to throw back a dry retort. But Dante was grinning, big and dumb and lopsided, blood dribbling and crusting around his chin, and Vergil recognized the unspoken agreement between them. Nothing would change, he decided. </p><p>Rather, things were just going to go back to how they used to be. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>He missed his mother. His father. He missed the concept of having a family — whole, content, together. (And disgustingly human, his demon growled.)</p><p>Dante was the only family left, but the rift between them had cracked and divided and spanned over <em> years. </em> Vergil’s past would forever leave scars in their relationship, healed but not forgotten. Never fully forgiven. The fact that Dante had dove back into hell for his “douchebag of a brother” was nothing short of a miracle; though in terms of Dante, perhaps that’s just to be expected. </p><p>Vergil was unadmittedly grateful, to be given a home and a room and a dingy kitchen table to watch his disgusting brother eat cold, week-old pizza, but building that bridge over the chasm of betrayal and estrangement was a task even Vergil himself believed daunting. </p><p>Yamato could cleave through the very fabric of space, dissect demons with clean precision, and pierce through the metaphysical <em> and </em> physical; if only she could somehow carve through this heavy wall between him and Dante that he so genuinely wanted to overcome. </p><p>He didn’t know what it was that chained him down and choked his tongue, what kept him bound to the freezing depths below when he so wanted to reach for the fire-red of Dante’s hand. Or was it scorching? Scorching like hell’s infernos, like magma his knees were forced to kneel on as he endured the sharp metal that dug into his skin and ripped into his flesh and that booming, gut-wrenching voice above him that mocked and taunted — </p><p>He clenched both his hands around the tsuka of Yamato — perfectly whole, perfectly at his side — her soft thrumming grounding him and returning him to the present. He shuddered, remembering to breathe and realizing how desperately his lungs had been aching for air, and leaned his head forward to rest against her. </p><p>Dante had gone out, hours ago, on some fool's errand, leaving Vergil with welcomed peace and quiet. But Vergil must have become too complacent, slipping from his meditation into unsavory territory, lulled by a false sense of security and comfort. His nightmares had reared their ugly heads before he could stop them. He's mildly thankful that Dante's not here; Vergil would rather lop his own head off than let his brother see him in such weakness. </p><p>Yet in another sense, he wished he was here. Some <em> human </em> part of him wanted the comfort of a hand on his back, of reassuring words to keep him tethered to reality. Vergil scowled. He's been making… Attempts to reconcile with his humanity, mostly ending in failure, but he's been <em> trying</em>. Ever since that blasted day, he had been alone. Forced to survive on his own power and will, until Mundus felled him and baptized him in unholy fires that seared behind his eyes, only to be reborn as some mindless pawn dressed in black armor. He lost so many years to corruption, many human concepts so utterly foreign to him now. </p><p>And though he cared for his brother, truly he did, and knew with no doubt that Dante felt the same for him, there was the undeniable rift between them still. Unconditional love was still something too much to ask for and to give, even if Dante had literally gone through hell and back to reclaim Vergil. Even after they had tried to kill each other, one of them succeeding. </p><p>Vergil didn’t regret falling to hell — Vergil didn’t <em> do </em> regret, or so he told himself — but he wished he had gone about it differently. These nightmares were an absolute <em> bitch</em>. If he could just cut them out of his head then — </p><p>Oh. <em> Oh.  </em></p><p>But he could. </p><p>In his hands, Yamato was a siren song offering him promises of freedom. Vergil knew she could do at least that much; if her edge could both open and shut the gates of hell itself, then at the very least she could snip off the shadows that plague him. A cake walk.</p><p>He slid off from his bed, down to his knees against the hardwood floor. Vergil extended his arms as far as they could reach, pressing the point of his blade to his chest, and took an easy breath. His mind was utterly clear, almost hollow save for one objective, all consequences or repercussions be damned. </p><p>He plunged his own blade through his heart, the blade sliding in quick and true. </p><p>And made a fatal mistake — he <em> faltered </em>. For only a scant second, he faltered. </p><p><em> ‘I want to be loved, </em> ’ he thought, for whatever damnable reason. Maybe he saw his life flash before his eyes, some instinctive reaction to watching and feeling Yamato pierce through his chest, though it wouldn't be the first time he received a sword through his heart. <em> ‘And to love.’ </em> </p><p>Instantly followed by, <em> ‘Shit.’ </em> </p><p>But before he could even think to pull her out or to come up with any other profanities, there's blinding white, then utter darkness. </p><p>(In hindsight, when he would look back onto this moment, he would have stabbed himself again. Not to fix or amend anything, but because he’d been a damn fool to not notice the miserable desperation that drove him into, well, driving his own sword into his own heart.)</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>What.</p><p>
  <em> The fuck. </em>
</p><p>When Vergil had woken up, it was with no fanfare. No blood or ache, no tear in his chest to suggest any wound; and unlike what he would have liked, not even a sense of clarity or relief. He had felt neither emptier nor fuller, just the brief sensation of vertigo, like getting up too fast after dozing around in bed all morning. Which was what he had practically done, he had realized, sitting up and glancing up at the clock.</p><p>It had been when he moved his hand and bumped into something <em> very warm </em> when he realized something was <em> very wrong. </em> Vergil was not a squeamish man by any means, given how much splattered demon guts he’s had the pleasantry of feeling firsthand, but something in him had physically recoiled. </p><p>It was how, at this moment, he’s staring wide-eyed and mouth agape upon his lap — Dante would cause such a racket with his howling if he saw his brother’s expression. His hands hovered just an inch above both their tiny chests, trapped between fear and confusion. </p><p>And something paternal.</p><p>His mind’s running on blind panic and for the first time in forever, he’d like to believe, he simply did not know what to do. At all. </p><p><em> ‘They’re breathing, </em> ’ came the logical and obvious thought, from his inability to make any ideas that rely on more than two brain cells to make. They’re certainly breathing, from the way their little chests rise and fall, and certainly alive and certainly <em> his. </em>He knew them as his just as he knew Dante a rotten pizza gremlin. </p><p>Two little things, two crowns of white. </p><p>Something in Vergil’s heart cracked, and he tenderly brushed his fingers against their impossibly soft cheeks. Distantly, inexplicably, he thought of his mother and father, trying to fathom how much love they beheld Vergil and Dante with upon their births. Why the image of them played in his head, he'd not a proper explanation. </p><p>They wiggled, subtly, and Vergil stiffened. He had half the mind to consider them as drooling little beasts, weak halflings that he should not trifle with at the risk of getting puked on; at the same time, he’s careful to not drop or crush them, recognizing the tiniest slivers of his own soul embedded in them. </p><p>He wondered how to explain this to Dante. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>“Please tell me this is where you punch me in the throat and go, ‘This isn’t what it looks like.'"</p><p>Dante stood there, two paper bags held in each of his arms — a gift of fruits and vegetables from the old woman with a pest problem — a tomato threatening to roll off by the brief lapse in strength. He had walked in, kicking the front door of their shop open, to see Vergil sitting on the old couch, legs primly crossed over another. </p><p>And cradling a pair of babies in his arms. </p><p>Dante had almost dropped the old lady’s gifts, but that didn’t stop his jaw from dropping. Ever since he convinced his brother to stay with him at Devil May Cry, he's always had a lengthy repertoire of wise cracks and quips to shoot at Vergil, until now. Words failed him, and he seriously did not want to think of who'd want to bang his older brother 'cause ew gross. (Not like they've even been back home for nine months anyway.) </p><p>Vergil watched him, with that perfected blank stare honed since their childhood, and the upward twitch of his mouth was the only thing managing to snap Dante out of it. And much to Dante's horror, Vergil said the dreaded words:</p><p>“This is <em> exactly  </em>what it looks like, dear brother of mine.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. traded my name to indulge a snake</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>coming to terms and pickin' names</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>There's quiet babbling, </span>
  <em>
    <span>baby</span>
  </em>
  <span> babbling, across the room, a drone in the background not unlike a quiet river come alive. Dante's occupied with one of the… Twins, bobbing the infant up and down on a bouncing leg, with both hands securing its tiny round waist. With his dumb big smile, he looked like he just found a shiny new toy to play with. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vergil never took his brother as someone attuned to children, not with how rough and reckless he was, but soon enough he had a second opinion forming. Dante may be an idiot, a clumsy big oaf in a fine china shop, but otherwise his personality would seem to mix well with kids — which, really, shouldn't be a surprised considering his attachment to humans. Easygoing albeit a bit lazy, fun and casual and always getting into trouble; an overgrown child himself, really. But it's an odd thought, one Vergil would never think to have given all the chaos that's happened in both their lives and certainly not in their current context. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ignoring Dante's cooing and the baby's gurgling, Vergil returned his attention to the tomes and books surrounding him, some half-opened or otherwise upside down with worn pages threatening to fall out. He's scoured through his small library — much of it salvaged from what remained of their mother's collection — for the past week, hoping to find anything that could clue him in on </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span> exactly had happened that day. It's futile, he understood, to hope that he'd find anything more on Yamato and her powers than what he already knew. What little he found and would find, were typically catalogued as lofty legends or twisted half-truths distorted into high fantasies, like a certain religion concerning his exalted father. And finding anything on half-demon breeds turning slivers of themselves into two additional infants, well, no way in hell he'd find anything on that either. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"C'mon, Verg, get your nose out of that book and spend some quality time with your boys," Dante called out, watching him with an infuriating grin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vergil looked back up again, narrowing his eyes in irritation and pulling his lips into a thin line. He'd argue if he could, if he had solid evidence to keep searching through his readings, but they both knew he'd come out of it all empty-handed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dante was right, knew he was right, and Vergil knew that </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> knew he was right. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Incorrigible. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With a quiet growl, he shut the book in his lap and swapped it for the infant next to him. It had been quiet for the entirety of Vergil's research, content to be swaddled in a soft blanket. (A divine miracle, that Dante had something clean in his room.) Quiet as it was, or perhaps more easily satisfied than his counterpart bouncing on Dante's leg, there was little fuss to be had, pliant and obedient like an actual toy baby doll. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>While Dante and Vergil were not well-versed in the art of child-rearing, they at least had the sense to feed and clothe the babes, remembering enough of their childhoods to know the necessities, as distant as it seemed to them now, like an entire lifetime that ended far too soon. Vergil had kicked Dante out the door with an order and a hand-written shopping list, diapers and formula notwithstanding, and slammed the door shut before Dante could even peep a protest. What he hadn't written down, he had hoped Dante would fill in the holes, his little brother being more accustomed to the human part of their lives. Surprisingly, they had managed to check off most of the necessities, at least concerning the human needs, though Vergil wondered where that line ended. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Given, demon biology was a convoluted subject. Half-breeds even more so. Thus, when it came to these newly-spawned halflings — quarterlings? — Vergil could truly only grasp at straws when it came to caring for them. Outwardly, they seemed human enough, ten toes and ten fingers, a pair of eyes and ears, basically all the proper human anatomy, even daily feeding and the expected aftermath. As to how far their demonic heritage ran, was a discovery still to be made.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One unrelated discovery, Vergil had found, was the strangely </span>
  <em>
    <span>fierce</span>
  </em>
  <span> attachment he felt toward the two, despite the confusion that was still embedded into his interactions with them. He long boxed that idea up and shelved it to look upon another day, for even though he was no stranger to self-reflection, dealing with </span>
  <em>
    <span>emotions</span>
  </em>
  <span> was a territory he was not entertained to roam. He still, after all, had unspoken issues to deal with Dante. If they ever got to that point, their bumpy relationship like a monster truck rally rather than a cleanly paved two-way road.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vergil looked down at the bundle in his lap, carefully nudging a finger into a plump cheek. No response, given the deep sleep. He sighed, willing the tension in his forehead to relax from the hours spent with his nose glued to his books, and leaned his back into the sofa. Some quality time this was. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>An odd gurgling over in Dante’s direction, though, captured Vergil’s attention, and he craned his neck just in time. Where the baby had once been bouncing on Dante’s leg was a gross pale stain, Dante holding the infant as far as his arms could reach and grimacing at the mess dribbling down. Too much playing must have shaken something up in its stomach. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vergil would have been concerned, but he was confident enough to know the baby would be just fine, at the expense of Dante’s soiled pants. When it soon giggled, having upchucked its breakfast all over, Vergil was validated and Dante reaped the consequences of shaking the babe like a canned soda ready to shoot. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He crooked a smile, with a quiet laugh under his breath, at his brother’s misfortune; Dante didn’t miss it, sending a cross look over Vergil’s way. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ah, quality time indeed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh, repeat that for me? In English.” Dante stared across the table, cradling one of the twins in his arm. He held a bottle to its mouth, little arms flopping uselessly at its side. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s a name, Dante.” Opposite from him, Vergil did the same, feeding the other twin. "Just as you and I have one."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Okay, no, you ass. You know what I mean" — Dante rolled his eyes, then tipped his chin toward the little one in his lap — "This little guy is Nero. Sure, cute I guess. Goes with the theme." But then he turned his eyes over to Vergil, particularly the babe in his brother's arms, and made a sour face. "But how in the fuck am I supposed to pronounce </span>
  <em>
    <span>that?</span>
  </em>
  <span>" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vergil hissed. "Language, Dante."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh, c'mon, they're like a couple weeks old. They ain't gonna remember. But if we're gonna talk about language, how about picking a name in a </span>
  <em>
    <span>human</span>
  </em>
  <span> language."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"It isn't so difficult. Observe." Vergil's eyes rolled back into his head, his chin tipping upwards, and his tongue lodged itself in his throat. Something between a howl and a gurgle, and impossibly even </span>
  <em>
    <span>possible</span>
  </em>
  <span>, rumbled through the air, as if the acoustics of the kitchen suddenly changed to reverberate whatever the fuck Vergil just said. His eyes rolled back forward, like he hadn’t just been possessed by some janky otherworldly power, and stared stoically back at Dante. “See? Now try.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Christ." Dante visibly recoiled, shoulders shuddering as he looked at Vergil in terror. "Yeah. Don't do that. Ever again."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You didn’t even try, Dante. Now —”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“V.” When Vergil only narrowed his eyes at being interrupted, Dante pressed on, “For like, Vergil junior or something. And besides, that… whatever the hell kind of wack-ass name you picked started with a ‘vuh’ sound. So.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vergil twisted his mouth, ready to shoot Dante’s proposal down, but promptly shut it as soon as he opened it. He decided he wasn’t in the mood to argue, and chopping off a limb or stabbing Dante in the gut wasn’t worth the effort for something as trivial as a shortened name, even if it was only a single letter. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Besides, he had to concede that giving the twins names was Dante’s idea in the first place. It had been getting tiring, simply glossing on by labelling them as ‘that thing’ or ‘the chunkier baby.’ Leave it up to Dante to even think about the human decency of offering them actual names, rather than calling them as they literally were. Not that Vergil wanted to complain, had a silent smoldering sense of gratitude even; he wasn’t going to confess that either though.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I suppose.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dante lifted his eyebrows, undoubtedly expecting an argument and an ensuing fight. “Huh.” Not taking it for granted, he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth, so instead of annoying Vergil any further he resumed his attention to the little bundle in his lap. “Well, Nero, little guy, looks like dadhood made your old man soft, eh?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He barely had time to glimpse the arm Vergil had wound back, before seeing something distinctly milky white shoot for his face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If Dante had a sore bump on his head from having a baby bottle thrown at him, he only had himself to blame really.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. where the blood flows through my soul</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Vergil gets a revelation, and Dante is - as always - helpful (sorta).</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>congrats vergie-o daddy-o</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The little hellions were growing fast. Too fast. Neither Dante nor Vergil had nearly as large a growth spurt as these two did, and the Sparta sons held more demon blood in their veins — or at least, that’s what Vergil had assumed. He’s still not sure how their biology worked or what exactly constituted their genetic makeup, but he’s confident enough to say Nero and V held at least </span>
  <em>
    <span>some</span>
  </em>
  <span> demon heritage. If Vergil was half-human and half-demon, he wanted to say his… offspring — for the lack of a better word, as clones weren’t quite right either, but the idea of </span>
  <em>
    <span>his children</span>
  </em>
  <span> gave him an uncomfortable flutter — were at least a quarter-demon. That was, after all, how math worked: split a half and one got fourths.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Going by the calendar, Nero and V were a little less than a month old. But while Vergil would never claim to be experienced in the life cycles of humans </span>
  <em>
    <span>or</span>
  </em>
  <span> demons, he's sure their extraordinary growth spurt meant something was off. They were already trying to crawl. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Aw, look at them little buggers." Dante crouched down in front of Nero and V, extending his arms and wiggling his fingers in a "come hither" gesture. Both tried to drag themselves across the floor, though V's attention span decided it was far more interested in a discarded beer cap left a few ways off and veered sharply to the left. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vergil sighed, putting his book away on Dante's desk. It took only a few steps compared to V's slow crawling, and he put his foot down on top of the bottle cap before the little thing could even hope to reach it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Dante," Vergil huffed, crossing his arms as he watched Dante take a tiny step back for each foot Nero got closer to him, "how many times must I tell you to clear your mess away?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Vergil had taken up residence with Dante, claiming one of the various rooms upstairs for himself, it took grueling hours to even make his own space decent. Dante was never one to keep things trim and tidy, would always leave his toys astray or bare blades lying everywhere in their childhood days, but when Vergil had seen the utter chaos that made up Devil May Cry, well. Vergil had cracked the whip then, making sure Dante hadn't missed any nooks or crannies. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>How</span>
  </em>
  <span> in the world do you expect to run a business when even your storefront is in shambles?" Vergil had shoved the nineteenth pizza box in the largest trash bag Dante owned, trying his best to ignore the mold peeking out from under the cover. "Even after all these years, here I am cleaning after you."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vergil had expected a snarky comment or a complaint, but when met with uncharacteristic silence, he had turned around to stare at the back of Dante’s head. Peaceful, logical arguments seldom occurred between them, their fights usually punctuated with violence or words spat through bared fangs. To receive nothing in response, especially when Vergil had practically </span>
  <em>
    <span>invited</span>
  </em>
  <span> some fighting words, had been concerning. “Dante?” he had asked, voice losing its previous edge, replaced by something softer. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Cut me some slack. I’ve only got like, what, one brain cell?” Dante had said, finally, with a hollow laugh. He had kept turned around, facing away from Vergil, hands idly sweeping the broom and only pushing around some dust to and fro. “And it was occupied busting up demons, thank you very much. Didn’t really have the luxury of using it for anything else.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That had been to say, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Because I really couldn’t give a damn.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Because you weren’t here with me.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Because I was mourning over my fucking shitty brother.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vergil had known the unspoken words, had suspicions about Dante’s emotional health far before Dante spoke the implications himself — the exhaustion hidden by a mask of flippancy, the crow’s feet and eyebags brought on by something more than time, the sloppy appearance that wasn’t simply a sense of style. He had supposed, in some odd poetic way, that Devil May Cry was a reflection of Dante. Full of holes and rotten floorboards, leaky pipes, cobwebs and spider eggs and mold and fungus galore. Time had not been kind to either of them — to all three of them: Dante, Vergil, and the little devil hunting shop. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But all three still alive. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then,” Vergil had said, taking a chance with his next words, “Good thing I have more than enough brain cells to share between the both of us. Sparda knows you need whatever you can get to fill that empty space of yours.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That time, Dante had barked out a laugh, whole and genuine. Even he had known the quiet meaning behind Vergil's words. To stay for the long haul. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vergil felt a light smacking against his boot, and upon looking down again, saw V uselessly slapping his little hand against his shoe, no doubt trying to get the bottle cap. Vergil didn’t relent, however, and kept his foot right on top. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Sorry, guess my aim was off." Dante at least offered an apology, sporting a sheepish grin and shrugging shoulders. Honestly, that was probably the best Vergil could have hoped for. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And while Dante was busy whooping and congratulating Nero for crawling the 3-meter stretch into Dante's hands, Vergil had to deal with the crawler on the verge of a fit. V's face began to scrunch, little lips turned into an ugly frown, just a ticking time bomb ready to wail his little lungs out</span>
  <em>
    <span>. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Obviously, the little fiend was not happy to be denied his shiny beer cap. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vergil had to think fast. Give the babe what he wanted — a small and sharp-edged hazard, no thanks to Dante — or face his noisy wrath. He remembered then, a flicker of an image of a coin and a bridge.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(One of Dante’s hunts, or rather a shared hunt between the two brothers, the fat coin gleaming under the dim streetlight, when his cocky little brother had been taunting their target. It had been one of the more uglier demons they’ve had the pleasure of coming across, some goopy amalgamation of spikes and scythe-like appendages and innumerous teeth, and Dante, unable to resist the temptation of showing off, had flicked an old coin into the air, twirling Ebony in his deft fingers before pointing upwards to shoot the coin clean through. Except, they had both underestimated how something so gooey and fat could move so quickly, and before Dante could pull his trigger finger, the demon had hefted an old car and chucked it at Dante, sending the man flying into the riverbank below.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vergil had caught Dante’s coin, pocketed it, spared a moment to laugh at Dante’s idiocy, and downed the demon with a single sweep of his sword. Plus one for Vergil, plus none for Dante. )</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll have none of that today,” Vergil decided, stooping down to pick V up. He carried him one-armed, taking quick strides to Dante’s desk, and rummaged through the top drawers with his free hand. He had dropped the coin in one of them, and he hoped that Dante didn’t rearrange anything from then to now, as he pushed away stray take-out menus, empty pens and discarded wrappers. He found the coin, thankfully, shiny as he remembered it and more importantly too large to fit in the baby’s mouth, and made a double-take for any odd demon goop that may be on it — it had, after all, been under Dante’s ownership. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had half the mind to sanitize it, in the extremely likely case V would gnaw on it as curious babies wont to do, but V’s distress was bordering on a rampage now, impatient for a sparkly toy, and Vergil liked to believe in the superior immune system bolstered by their demon blood. “Here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>V slid it into his mouth immediately. Or tried to, anyway, lips not even making past a third of the coin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vergil’s unsurprised but felt mildly triumphant that his suspicions were right. Good thing he refused V the beer cap; Vergil could think of at least five worst case scenarios if he had gotten his soft grubby little hands on it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s when he actually took a good look at those soft grubby little hands that Vergil hissed something, eyes automatically darting to Dante in accusation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Really?” Vergil said, exasperated, as he gently tugged on the sleeve of V’s onesie. “Did you </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> draw on my own child with a marker?” Of course, leave it to his idiot brother to do something so childish. But the black mark didn’t stop at the hand, travelling up past the wrist, and Vergil wondered in frustration just how far Dante had drawn up on V’s arm. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dante made a choking sound, followed by a whispered, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Holy shiiiiit.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vergil looked at Dante, wondering what was worth the awe-inspired profanity and —</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stiffened, realizing what he had said. </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘My own child,’</span>
  </em>
  <span> he repeated, his own admittance echoing inside his skull. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And even if he hadn’t realized it himself, Dante’s ugly mug would have told him: lips puckered into a stupid-looking ‘o’ as if he was about to tattle to an elementary schoolteacher, eyebrows lifted to the high heavens in shock, and an index finger pointing accusingly at Vergil. “I can’t believe it,” he said, tone pitching higher into what Vergil recognized as the prelude to one of his roaring laughs, “I mean, I totally knew you’d admit it one day, but not this soon.” Then, looking at Nero, “Y’hear that, brat? Vergil’s officially a dad.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vergil splayed a hand across his face, roughly dragging it down his eyelids and cheeks, as he tuned out Dante’s raucous howling. A tiny voice in his head told him to gag his brother with Yamato’s sheath, but that would only mean he’d fall for Dante’s agitation. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>True, he was still coming to terms with what had happened, and what would happen, considering he had given up on mending what he had torn out of him. He and Dante had talked at length of what their father’s blades could do; if Yamato could separate, then Rebellion, perhaps, could merge. Yet despite how both brothers have kissed the sharp edges of both weapons, sliced and diced and stabbed by each other, they had concluded it would be a terrible idea to skewer the two babes into Vergil with Rebellion. Until further notice, at least. Vergil was, after all, functioning just as perfectly as always, no odd or ill side effects on the horizon, so no point in taking an unneeded risk. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vergil was still easing into the idea of having Nero and V as… possibly long </span>
  <em>
    <span>fixtures</span>
  </em>
  <span> in his life, the idea of suddenly being a father a prospect he had never entertained. But he was trying to learn. He wouldn’t change himself, not for the world and not even for Dante, but he could adapt. It was difficult, finding a way to interact with the human realm without being chiseled down by it, tamed by its arbitrary laws of morality and customs so influenced by emotions. He lived by logic and sense, not sentiments and feeble hope.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He accepted he had a human half, neglected as it was by his lifetime search for power, but he refused to deny his demon. If only marrying the two halves could be like balancing an equation, then Vergil could have possibly avoided at least half the problems that have cropped up in his life so far. Then again, if life was an arithmetic workbook, Dante would sure as hell be fucked given how utterly brainless he could be. So perhaps, for his little brother’s sake, things were better off as they were, especially for both of them. Loathe as he was to admit, Dante was the closest thing to balancing the two halves and living at least somewhat decently (barring debts and old bills that were entirely Dante’s own fault), thus the only guidepoint to which Vergil could reference in how to live as a son of Sparda within a world of humans. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dante had been almost too ecstatic to be an uncle, tooting about how Vergil could stay as the strict dad so Dante could be the cool uncle that the kids adored, so easily sliding the pieces that were Nero and V into their lives, while Vergil still struggled to show anything more than a guardian’s obligation toward them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But this sudden development, the spontaneous act of claiming his own children, Vergil did not know what to make of it. He didn't understand the complexity of a parent's heart; he only had a brief time with his own father, and Sparda was under no means a prime example of a </span>
  <em>
    <span>normal </span>
  </em>
  <span>parent, in terms of both demon and human. Casting off his demon heritage and indomitable power, rejecting the underworld for the weaker realm above, and giving his sons his heavy blades and an even heavier legacy, were not typical fatherly customs for either species, Vergil knew that much. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But weren’t fathers supposed to be filled with an unconditional, bleeding-heart adoration for their children? The human ones — the good ones, from his understanding — Vergil at least thought. He felt none of that, only a duty to protect which he theorized stemmed from the fact Nero and V were basically slivers shaved from himself. An instinct of self-preservation, in a way.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Which really did make him a father, in retrospect. At least in human reproduction, a fetus was the result of  the sperm and egg combining, a piece of the father and a piece of the mother coming together, to carry on their genes and history. Vergil’s case wasn’t so different, Nero and V holding pieces of himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Did that make him the mother too? Was he supposed to hold double the affection then, to make up for the lack of a complete pair? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Vergil.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He whipped his head around so fast that Dante had to take a step back, lifting a hand up with his palm out in a show of peace. Nero was thrown over his shoulder, his butt facing forward and stubby legs wiggling. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn't even notice his brother had gotten so close. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Verge, you are thinking </span>
  <em>
    <span>way</span>
  </em>
  <span> too hard about this. I could practically see the smoke comin’ out of your ears.” Dante grinned, not out of humor or amusement for once, but out of comfort. A smile meant to reassure, despite his teasing remark, yet when Vergil merely stared blankly at him, Dante's lips shrank and were replaced by a more clean line. “Listen, if it bothers you that much I’ll lay off on the dad jokes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s not it.” Vergil said, already trying to formulate an answer to Dante's next question. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A pause, used to glance down at V, happily slobbering away at his shiny gold coin. Something yet again — infuriating Vergil as he did not understand what it was, hating not knowing what was happening to his own self — bloomed in his chest. “I,” Vergil turned his gaze away and looked squarely at Dante, “I do not know how to be a father.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vergil saw the flicker of emotions pass on Dante's face, reigned in as they were as his brother tried to obviously hide the obvious. Dante might have a poker face of his own, but Vergil didn’t craft his own mask of ice and steel from nothing, and knew where the fault lines and cracks crawled across Dante’s expression. A crease here, a wrinkle in between the brows, the near imperceptible twitch of his mouth, where his jaw tightened and his eyes shined a certain way. Vergil recognized the pity, the worst of all that cycled upon Dante’s face, but it didn’t offend him as he thought it would. It looked more like sympathy. Empathy, maybe, preposterous as it was. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh. I mean, old pops wasn’t really what you’d call a normal dad, either,” Dante finally said, trying to hide the emotional rollercoaster he just briefly had, “Pretty sure letting your kids swing around swords as big as they are would get CPS called on your ass.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And there he was again, trying to reassure and comfort under the guise of flippancy and humor, Vergil thought. Funny, how Dante tried to cloak his bleeding human heart as something carefree and aloof, when other times he bared it for all to see. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But hey! Look at us, still alive with all our fingers intact.” Dante wiggled his fingers out, all ten of them, to prove his point. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vergil could return that wit though, so he responded in his dry humor, “Yet opening the gates of hell and impaling each other, among the many questionable occurrences in our lives, is not what I would call a proper or healthy upbringing.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Aww, see! Sounding like a proper dad already.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How reassuring.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ll be fine, Verg.” Dante slipped a hand over Vergil’s shoulder, warm and firm. “We’ll both be fine. How hard can raising a couple of runts even be? Mom did pretty fine by herself, and we weren’t exactly little angelic peaches of joy.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do not,” Vergil said with no real venom, testing the waters with his next words, “call my children runts.” Surprisingly, not as difficult as he thought. No harshness or bitterness on his tongue or a heavy weight in his chest, no odd tingling in his spine or void in his stomach. </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘My children,’</span>
  </em>
  <span> he tried again, experimenting with the thought now, and when nothing echoed back, he was satisfied. “And speaking of my children,” he continued, actually adding heat and a threat in his tone, “pray tell, why you felt so compelled to </span>
  <em>
    <span>draw</span>
  </em>
  <span> on V.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vergil made his point by pulling up one of V’s sleeves, making it obvious to Dante what he referred to. The thick lines of ink that wrapped around a wrist, tapering off and blurring into nothing the closer they got to his hand, almost far too clean and artistic for Dante to pull off, but Vergil wouldn’t put it past him, especially when his little brother got bored. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeaaaah,” Dante said, apprehensive as he hefted Nero off his shoulder to properly carry him in his arm, and leaned forward to inspect the black streaks. “Any chance that’s some voodoo demon rash? ‘Cause that ain’t me, brother. How far does that even go?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vergil knew when Dante lied, and he realized this was not one of those times. He pulled the sleeve higher, much to V’s displeasure as the little thing weakly tried to pull his arm away, only to see the dark markings crawl their way up just as high. They were not here this morning. Vergil didn’t panic — because much like regrets, he didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> panic — but he wouldn’t deny the unease roiling in his stomach, a passing storm threatening to downpour in his gut. “Curious,” he murmured, mild unlike the tension swelling inside. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ditto.” Dante rubbed at his stubbled chin, narrowing his eyes in inspection like a detective trying to find all the world’s clues within the lines of V’s surprise graffiti. “Know any doctor that specializes in demon-human babies?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vergil answered with thin-lipped silence, not even bothering to point out the absurdity of the question, even if it was out of humor. They </span>
  <em>
    <span>could</span>
  </em>
  <span> get a hold of Trish, though that would be difficult to come by, considering she and Lady were over in who-knows-where on an entirely different continent on some special vacation getaway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright, so Vergil —”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And there it was. Dante caught it first, only on the merit that he’s practically holding Nero, but Vergil’s just a second behind. When Nero wailed, face turning pink and mouth spittling, Dante hung his head low and laughed in surrender at the ludicrous timing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vergil merely sighed. “But first, a diaper change.” </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. take a shot in the face of fear</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>ngl, this chapter was beating my butt</p><p>i imagine there's some typos here and there but HEY, here it is</p><p>Also, headcanon that Vergil and Dante don't necessarily need to eat human food anymore, that they've adapted to just "eat" demon energy aka red orbs</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>One thing Vergil's learned to be grateful for, in light of all the halves he's made of, was the absence of the more common human needs. Food, for one, he’s in no true want of; though, another thing could be said for Dante. His brother gorged himself on pizza like a man starved all his life, spreading grease from his fingertips over the chipped wood of his desk, sometimes just smearing his hands on his own clothes without a second thought. And when he’s not stuffing his face with cheese and sauce, he’s slurping down on a to-go drink made from ice cream and strawberries, noisily sucking at the straw for the last remnants when he finally came up empty. Vergil’s had to swat the back of Dante’s head one too many times, telling him to quit his obnoxious sounds, though he’s sure it’s all intentional with the way Dante grinned back with his annoying little brother smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vergil didn’t care much for human food, not in the indulgent way that Dante did at any rate. He could survive — they both could — by simply slaughtering the demons that slipped out of the underworld, feasting off the essences left behind far long after the corpses disintegrated. That’s how he’s survived for much of his life, when his childhood was burned down with the remains of their home. Food never tasted the same, lacking the skill of a mother’s hand and the taste of a mother’s love. Once, when he had still been small and afraid and lost, when an innocent family took him in out of pity and foolishness, he had tasted their dinner only for it to fall like ashes on his tongue; he had preferred the tasteless red of demons ever since then.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sometimes, though, Dante would annoy and prod at him, literally poke him in the cheek with a plastic fork until Vergil turned his head to snap back, lips already posed to hiss, and Dante would shove something in his mouth, be it meat or rice or noodles or whatever Dante had ordered for delivery. Vergil would glare back, holding whatever morsel on his tongue before finally chewing, because he’d never do something as barbaric as spitting his food out on the bare floor or their newly-bought couch. Begrudgingly, he’d eat whatever it was Dante had forced upon him, taking the plastic or styrofoam container himself to eat the remainder so he’d be spared the humiliation of being spoon-fed by his own little brother, knowing Dante would keep on if he tried to ignore him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vergil found he didn’t mind food so much then. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was the company maybe, or the lack thereof, when he had tried to eat in the past, when the food tasted bitter and cold or just tasteless in itself. There were still things he didn’t enjoy, after finally re-discovering the flavors for themselves, and Dante would note them in the back of his mind, never ordering them again, but that didn’t stop him from going down the menu and picking out the next four or five dishes for Vergil to try. Vergil knew what his brother was doing: trying to get him in touch with his human side, introducing him to what Dante’s had the chance of experiencing and what Vergil’s been denied all these decades. It was frustratingly endearing in that he really couldn’t deny such determined efforts, and he might as well try to be a good big brother and let Dante believe he was doing something positive for a change. (It was the least Vergil could do, honestly, considering all the shit he’s pulled.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, it was more convenient to eat on a job, especially when no chewing was involved; just squash a few demons, get paid, get fed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had been Dante who suggested the idea first, casually wondering if the baby Spardas would have the same taste for demon essence as they did. Vergil had contemplated it for a moment only because Dante had a valid point and, deciding it'd be a harmless experiment, jotted it down on his mental to-do list next time he'd go out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The theory was put to the test when Vergil returned a few days later to Dante sprawled on the floor with both V and Nero sleeping on top of his chest and his obscene magazine on top of his face. The demon infestation being several towns over, Vergil had opted for it to shave off the travelling time, Yamato’s blade promising to deliver him far faster than Dante’s bike could ever hope to. Due to Dante’s terrible bookkeeping skills, Vergil’s been taking on additional jobs, sometimes hounding Morrison, and kicking Dante’s ass into productivity to pay back all the debt he’s owed and to put additional funds into sprucing up the decrepit shop. Vergil might be willing to live with his brother for the foreseeable future, but he would not live in squalor — especially now that he had </span>
  <em>
    <span>children.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey," Dante greeted, face still covered by the magazine, too lazy to move or sit up. "Got the goods?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vergil responded by fishing into his pocket and pelting a glistening chunk of what's essentially condensed demon blood, cleanly knocking the magazine off Dante's face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dante grumbled something under his breath, mentioning “precious cargo” and “shit aim” as he peeled his back off the floor with audible pops from his spine, being mindful of the two boys as they slid down into his lap. It made Vergil wonder just how long he’s been lying on the floor, balancing the babes on top of his chest with steady breaths while staring at the ceiling and going over his magazine at least three times. Vergil knew there wasn’t much reading in those. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vergil watched with crossed arms as Dante reached for the red crystal then set it on Nero’s head, nestling it within the messy mop of hair. Dante leaned in, watching with rapt attention for it to scatter into ruby dust like a little halo. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>One second, two. Nothing happened. Except when it slipped out of Nero’s hair as he started to squirm, falling onto the floor with a soft plink. Dante tried it again and dropped it on V’s lap instead; unimpressively, nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” Dante said, unenthused, “so much for that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vergil simply hummed in agreement, picking the crystallized essence before V decided to choke on it, easily crushing it in between his fingers and dusting Dante with it. V and Nero cooed and… babbled? made noises at the soft glittering air colored like rubies. They wiggled their short round hands, trying with their poor motor skills to grab at the disintegrating dust. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re less demon and more human, it seems,” Vergil made his assessment, observing them like a researcher with his pet project. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure, except for this gnarly demon rash.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Right. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Dante made his point by reaching for V and tugging down on the collar of his onesie, revealing an intricate linework of black tendrils and sweeping curls crawling along the babe’s skin. Contrary to what Dante called it, it looked nothing like a rash and more like </span>
  <em>
    <span>tattoos.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Which, honestly, was just as an odd concept considering V was an infant and neither Dante nor Vergil knew of any ink artists.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But V still happily drooled and cooed and cried, so it was safe to assume he was in no immediate danger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vergil thought he saw something move, like the twitch of a curling vine or the flicker of dust, but he chalked it up to the poor lighting and a passing shadow as Dante let V go to zoop around on the floor with Nero. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That Dante really shouldn’t have done with all the sharp corners and dangling daggers and scattered collections of devil arms he had around the shop. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vergil and Dante had been hardy little things back in their youth. They could climb trees and fall on sharp rocks and walk it off like champions, broken bones and split skin nothing more than fading marks after a short few minutes. As for when they had been infants themselves, Vergil didn’t know the fine details, but he’s sure they were just as resilient. He’s not so sure about Nero and V, though, and he wasn’t going to leave any of that to chance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Baby-proofing the shop was out of the question — too many things to round and smooth or otherwise lock away — but they could at least be smart about it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Dante… Dante had his own special brain cells that worked when the situation called for it, but his better judgement was bleakfully lackluster in most cases. Vergil couldn’t find the energy in himself to point out how terrible Dante’s common sense was, especially considering his little brother was the more human one of the two.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a long-suffering sigh, Vergil dropped himself onto the couch and kept a careful eye on his children, making sure they didn’t bump their fragile little foreheads on any dangerous table corners. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Verge, wanna make a bet on which kiddo’s the fastest? My money’s on Nero.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My children are not race horses.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For diaper duty?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“… V.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>He lost the bet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arguably, it had ended in a tie as V and Nero kept veering off course and finding other things of interest, whether it be dust or lint or a decision to simply sit and coo, and Dante kept picking a new “finish line” for each interruption. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the problem wasn’t the loss. And staring down at V, quietly slumbering away now that he’s tuckered out for the night, Vergil wished it </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> the problem. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Perhaps that was it, part of the problem and all, when he had allowed himself to dismiss that dark flicker as a trick of light, when Dante moved his hand to tuck the collar of V's onesie back up to his chin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he was absolutely </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> going to be hysterical. Even if he’s in the face of his nightmares.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tiny as they were.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had turned his back for a single split second, only to see the living reminders of his splintered self, who had once been defeated and broken and collared within a black armor. He swallowed down the memories, expecting them to rise like bile back up his throat — only to realize he’s strangely numb to it all. Somehow, he doubted the muted anguish was due to the fact his literal living nightmares were essentially miniature, infant versions of themselves. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He recognized a Shadow, preposterously tinier than a newborn kitten, and a half-naked chick with barely any down on it. A Griffon, maybe. The third, he didn’t know, as it was just a round lumpy jelly amalgamation with what looked like a marble in the center. That could be anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vergil stared into the darkness, but the darkness did not stare back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He dragged both hands down his face, fingers pressing firmly against his eyelids, willing himself to </span>
  <em>
    <span>think.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He needed to stop, gather his bearings, figure out just what the hell was going on. Backtrack. This morning? No, farther. Yesterday. No, </span>
  <em>
    <span>farther still.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Yamato thrummed within his chest, like a gentle pluck of his heartstrings, and he knew precisely the when and why.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vergil whispered out a curse between a frustrated, cynical smile. This was his own doing, the result of acting upon a too-hot emotion. Desperation. Of course it would all come back to him in some form or fashion, the consequence of poor planning and a last-second fervent wish. This was what he had wanted, wasn’t it? The original purpose of it all: to cut out his nightmares. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course they wouldn’t just disappear; the laws of the universe stated it as such. They had to go somewhere, take some sort of shape or form if not in his mind. Why wouldn’t they move on into the physical, if they couldn’t be intangible? He could only blame himself. Yamato had done what he wanted with what little time and thought he had given her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And here his traumas and regrets slept, their seemingly harmless forms hiding beguiling beasts that teared everything asunder. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>He avoided V for a time. Dante didn’t need much of an explanation — he could be strangely intuitive at times — though one look at V and his new additions probably explained it all. Vergil took to Nero instead, when he wasn’t busying himself in devil hunts and the obligatory gore that came with it. He busied himself with work, drowning out the invasive and crippling thoughts and dividing emotions that wedged itself between him and his son. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Like he was running away. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Like a coward,’</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thought to himself, standing in the midst of his carnage, dismembered demons and dark red ichor flooding around his periphery. If he blinked, just for that small fraction of time, he’d imagine being in the pits of hell again, crumpled and wasted within an inky black pool, a towering statuesque god above with shattered bones and steel surrounding him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In hubris, maybe, or in an experiment, he allowed himself to sink back into that memory, expecting to choke on his own blood and spit, to claw his way back to the surface in desperation for air while dark tendrils kept him anchored in Mundus’ grasp. He expected to fall </span>
  <em>
    <span>down, down, down,</span>
  </em>
  <span> as he had done on the sharp cliffs of Temen-ni-Gru, to feel pain and betrayal like the slash of a sword cut deep into his guts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, Vergil choked, coming up on nothing but blood-tinged air. Where he expected bright crimson, there’s only a muted dull red; a distant echo where there should be screams. There’s an almost mild horror to it, how distant he felt to what should have been lung-paralyzing trauma. He expected a crashing tidal wave to drag him beneath its deadly force, only to find cold waves lapping at his feet, chilly but not glacial.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt a longing, something sore and soft, in place of the despair that should have been boiling inside. A longing to brush a finger against impossibly soft skin, to listen to quiet nonsensical noises and babbles, to feel the weight of not just one but two in his arms again. To see V.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Dante beat him to it, standing just before the door when Vergil returned, arms crossed and hip cocked to the side, in comical perfect timing. Vergil wouldn’t put it past him if his little brother had indeed been standing there for the better part of the night, just to get the jump on him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A’ight, Verge. Now I hated the little bastards as much as you do — I mean, I was the one who got stabbed and poked and electrocuted by ‘em in the first place, y’know, but V’s your boy and whatever weird demon shit is happening you gotta just —”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Move aside, Dante. I need to see my son.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dante must have not been expecting that, considering how easily he stilled and let Vergil just glide on by. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Huh," Vergil heard Dante whisper. He might have felt some sort of vindication at the surprised breath, if he didn't have more pressing matters to attend to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was something he realized, between the then of dreaded discovery and the now of climbing the banister. The nightmares certainly </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> been gone, the day he ripped out a piece of his soul and fathered two sons, just as he had wanted. The peculiar thing, was he had paid it no mind, too wrapped up in between the devil hunts which, all in all, were collectively a cakewalk, and the harder task of raising two little infants. He would not realize the exhaustion in his bones and the fatigue in his eyes until his head hit the pillow, all because of the gratuitous crying and red-cheeked demands of his mini tyrants, only to find that his scant hours of sleep blinked by in the span of a blank, dark second. No hint of dreaming nor nightmares following.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Never once did his mind drift back to memories of old, broken days under the hand of an old, cruel master; but he could find them if he looked in between the spaces and slats, watch them in full view like some vignette film. But between him and the hazy images, a particular disconnect. He’s an observer outside, looking into what is very much his own, seeing and sensing but it stopped there. There was knowledge without the despair, here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So looking down upon V now, laying side-by-side with his brother Nero, he sighed out an uncertain breath as he waited for the backlash, to see if it would all flood back to him the second his eyes honed in on the black, inky amalgamations fanned out above V’s head. There’s a soft creak behind him, a warm aura that’s undeniably Dante, and Vergil knew he was standing by on silent watch to make sure dear brother didn’t do anything drastic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In what felt like an agonizing slow, drawn-out moment, Vergil scooped up the fledgling Griffon, easily fitting into the palm of his hand and leaving plenty of space around. He could close his fingers, snuff it out lightning quick before Dante could cross the room. That was certainly an idea. But the pitiful thing barely twitched, naked aside from just a few hints of plumage, unaware of the deathtrap that it rested in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vergil couldn’t bring himself to hate it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was his testimony, proof of all his failings and ensuing torment, his humiliation and hubris — and more, if he took the time to sit down and think about it and, perhaps, put aside some of his pride. In the same vein, he was here, alive, </span>
  <em>
    <span>with Dante,</span>
  </em>
  <span> with children. Alive, enough to muse about his transgressions and his mistakes, to go forward and press on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s fragile, all of this: Nero, V, the materialized existence of his sufferings. He wondered if Nero held something similar, dark secrets hiding underneath his thin skin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You good?” Dante finally spoke up, still from his place at the doorway, allowing Vergil his space and time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vergil let that question stew, unsure of his answer. He might be fine now, but who’s to say what would happen in the hours, days, months to come? But if he’s learned anything from Dante during their time back together, life didn’t have much to offer without a little risk. Besides, he figured he’d have a pretty good chance at — dear father, he’s actually going to say it — hitting the jackpot, with the great gambler Dante by his side. Vergil could handle it, </span>
  <em>
    <span>would</span>
  </em>
  <span> handle it. Like he’s done before, like he’s doing now. And if he needed a little help, then… He supposed he made enough mistakes by trying to bear everything on his own shoulders, and he wasn’t foolish enough to ignore his hard-learned lessons. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vergil tucked them all in, feathery monstrosity included, and flipped the lights off, joining Dante by the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good,” Dante parroted, clapping Vergil on the back, leading them out into the hall, shoulder to shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s uncertainty, a dim smoldering of fear lodged in his chest, and a myriad of other emotions Vergil still hasn’t quite figured to put a name to. Nothing was promised to him, no guarantee of tomorrow and let alone happiness, but his steps were a little lighter, body a pound freer, with Dante’s quiet assurance, little brother more than willing to lend his hand to carry a few extra luggage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vergil hoped his sons would not make the same mistakes he had made. He hoped they would, if and when the time came, they would lean on each other should the unspeakable ever come, to do what he had not all those years ago. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“By the way,” Dante peeped up, idly scratching his chin and sweeping a suspicious gaze on the walls, “Nero grew some weird ghost wings today. They kinda disappeared after an hour, but can you imagine if he got your tail? Betcha he’d get real stabby with that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh for the love of — </span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
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